


Breaking Point

by RembrandtsWife



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair reaches his breaking point and goes Neanderthal.  Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Te for a woo-hoo and Amirin for saying mush was okay. Major mush warning in effect: hot sex mixed with warm fuzzies. This came out of my fingers on Wednesday like beer out of a shook-up bottle.

## Breaking Point

by Merri-Todd Webster

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/8298/titles.html>

Author's disclaimer: If they really aren't mine, why are they telling me all this intimate stuff?

Breaking Point  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
(12 December 1998) 

* * *

Jim Ellison had always taken it for granted that he was stronger than his partner and roommate, Blair Sandburg. After all, Sandburg was a good deal shorter than Ellison, and much lighter in weight, not counting the multiple layers of clothing he habitually wore. He had also always assumed that Sandburg was the mildest of men, a man of peace who not only loathed violence but had none in his soul. 

So he was not at all prepared when, the moment they got into the loft, Sandburg turned on him, normally cheerful blue eyes snapping with fury, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, and literally threw him up against the door. He had not counted on the _energy_ pent up in that short, wiry body, energy that was making the long curly hair fairly stand on end, energy that was now uncoiled like a whip and unleashed against him. It was more than enough energy to compensate for the difference in their sizes. 

"I have _had_ it with you, Jim Ellison!" 

Ellison winced, his extremely sensitive Sentinel hearing bombarded by the loudest, angriest voice he had ever heard from his partner. It was not only very loud and very angry, it was _focused_ \--the Guide voice raised to a new level, squared, cubed, even. It hit him where he lived, gut-level, in instincts he didn't even know he had. It made him stop even thinking about struggling and _listen_. 

"You have messed with my head for the last time! You have messed with my _ass_ for the last time!" 

Oh that's what this is, Jim thought, you swatted him on the ass, Ellison, you let yourself go, you pushed his buttons, dammit-- 

"You are _not_ going to buddy up to me and then pat me on the ass after staying out for two nights with--with--a woman, okay? A lover. No more!" 

What? 

"You are _mine_ , Ellison--have you noticed this? Apparently not." Ellison flinched from the scorn in those big blue eyes. " _My_ Sentinel. _Mine_. Sentinel--Guide--there's a connection here, Jimbo." 

Ellison shifted, intending to break the smaller man's hold and inform him that, in case _he_ hadn't noticed, he did not take kindly to being called "Jimbo." But he couldn't. He couldn't break Sandburg's hold. Not without breaking Sandburg, at any rate, and he really didn't want to do that, because the man was pressed up against him from knee to chest, and in case nobody had noticed, they were both sporting trouser snakes trying to crawl right out of their trousers. 

And it felt too damn good. 

Ellison bent his head, submissively, perhaps, or perhaps just to get a better focus on the extraordinary expression on Blair Sandburg's face--anger, frustration, passion, exasperation--and then Sandburg flew up at him and kissed him. 

To be more precise, Sandburg's mouth clamped on to his as a wolf clamps onto the throat of its prey. There were hard, sharp teeth behind those soft, full lips, and Sandburg bit Ellison's lower lip, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to _hurt_ , and shoved his tongue mercilessly into Ellison's mouth. 

Ohmigod, Jim thought, feeling Blair's tongue rake all over everything like the ball in a pinball machine bouncing around and lighting up all the works, I want this, I really want this, I've been _waiting_ for this-- 

Ellison actually whimpered when Sandburg pulled away, but then he felt hopeful, because the expression on Sandburg's face had changed. It was incandescent now not with fury but with desire, unmistakable unignorable desire, wild hot joyful free and God he wants _me_ , thought Jim, and I had to wait, you see, because he's the _Guide_ , he has to go first-- 

Blair grabbed Jim's wrists and pulled, and Jim stumbled forward, and then got his act together and fairly ran up the steps after Blair, letting Blair go first, letting Blair lead the way. The taste and feel of Sandburg's mouth, the firmness fullness spicy astringency, had wiped out every vestige of twentieth-century American cop and left only Sentinel instinct, need, and desire. And Sentinel instinct said one thing: In order to cement the relationship, to consecrate the bond, the Guide had to claim his Sentinel. 

It explained why he had waited so long, wracked with desire, why he had never told Blair how he felt, why he had never dragged Blair off by the hair (abundant hair) and fucked him. It explained why he now let Blair proceed him up the steps. It explained why he then tossed his jacket aside, kicked off his shoes, and just lay down on the bed, on his back, waiting for Blair. Sandburg was stripping so fast, so furiously, that it appeared to be hailing winter clothing in Jim's bedroom, but that was okay; he could pick things up later. Hell, Jim might just pick things up _for_ him. 

Jim watched with silent hopefulness as Blair wrenched off his briefs and then threw them over the railing of the balcony. He wanted to laugh, but he didn't want to give his Guide the wrong impression. Sandburg's drama, his wildness, his flair for the right gesture were delightfully funny, but not Sandburg himself, not the naked man crawling up over Jim's still fully clothed body, a fully erect man who was quite well hung for his size and looked kind of like some satyr as painted by Arthur Rackham, maybe-- 

"Jim," Blair growled, "why the fuck are you still dressed?" 

Ellison did laugh, then, happy, hysterical laughter that made him clutch his stomach, that made Blair sit back and stare at him and eventually laugh, too, just as watching someone yawn will make the watcher do the same. When their shared hysteria trickled off, Blair began unbuttoning Jim's shirt, in a matter-of-fact sort of way, and Jim tried to explain things to his friend, Guide, and soon-to-be lover, in as simple a way as possible. 

"Instinct, Darwin," he said drily, reveling in the feel of Blair's fingertips brushing his skin. "Sentinel and Guide are supposed to bond sexually. Doesn't matter what sexes they are. You can fill in all the anthro details on homoerotic bonding, etc., etc. But the thing is--" he paused, sucking in an excited breath as Sandburg spread open the unbuttoned shirt, kissed Jim's chest, and then started unfastening Jim's jeans-- "the, uh, thing is, _you're the Guide_." 

Blair stopped--unfortunately, Jim thought--thumb and forefinger still grasping a halfway-lowered zipper. "I'm the Guide? What does that have to do with the price of condoms in Cascade?" 

Jim suppressed a giggle--yes, a giggle, where the hell did _that_ come from?--and gestured feebly toward Sandburg's precariously poised hand. The sound of the zipper sliding all the way down was harmonized by a sigh from the older man. "You're the Guide, Chief. You provide direction, focus, and control." Eyes twinkling, Jim looked his partner in the face. "All this time, I've been waiting for _you_ to make the first move." 

Unfortunately, this explanation caused Blair to fall off the bed, howling. Jim figured it was safe to continue with the removal of his clothing while Blair got a hold of himself. He was just about to pull down his shorts when Sandburg crawled back up over the edge of the bed, still hooting. 

"Oh, man, that is so ironic." Blair fell over Jim with a kind of wheezing sound. "All this time I've been waiting for _you_ to make the first move. I mean, come on, you're so--so big, and butch, and macho, and _straight_ \--" 

"Never judge a book by its cover, Sandburg." Jim bumped deliciously against the other man as he raised his hips in order to pull! down! the damned! shorts! And then Blair's hand was following the waistband of the shorts down Ellison's muscular thigh, and with a comment even Jim couldn't make out, Blair dove in and kissed his partner again. 

Jim wrapped his arms around Blair and explored his back with happy, curious hands, while Blair kissed him passionately, enthusiastically, skillfully, artistically. The need for oxygen alone separated their mouths, and then Blair sat back on his heels and ran a hand over his lover, from naked chest past naked erection down to naked thigh. 

"Good God, Jim--though I'm not sure _which_ god--you are so gorgeous." Tentative fingers brushed through the delicate hairs on the heavy balls. "You're a prize stallion, a statue by Praxiteles--" 

Beyond shame, Jim twisted his hips so that those trailing fingers touched his cock. Not only did he need, desperately, to be touched, he was more than slightly embarrassed by Blair's words of praise. Sandburg, skilled at doubletracking, wrapped his hand joyfully around his lover's magnificent cock and went on with his paean unabated. 

"--Just so perfect, big and sleek and massive and muscular and _hung_ and--" 

"Sandburg." Jim was actually flushing. "Do you have--I mean, really--I--Blair, I'm just a cop with a health club membership. And really good genes. I'm not all that." 

"Yes, you _are_." Blair stroked his lover firmly and planted another kiss on the broad, smooth chest. 

Jim groaned. "You're the one who's--ah, incredibly sexy and, and erotic and wild and, oh, Jesus, Blair--" delicately tonguing his nipples "--don't let me zone...." 

"I'm right here, Jim." Blair kissed Jim's mouth, one cheek, and then the other. He dragged his fingertips lightly from Jim's cock to his collarbone. "Do you really think I'm--all that?" 

"You bet I do," Jim said huskily. Daring, he took the hand that smelled of his cock, his arousal, and licked the faint residue of his pre-cum from Blair's fingers. Blair moaned volubly. "You're right there in your body, comfortable in yourself--you know how to give and receive pleasure, not just how to kill people--" 

"Stop that." It was the Guide voice, and it shut Jim up, instantly. "I don't ever want to hear you put yourself down like that again, Jim. Especially not during sex." 

"You mean this is going to happen again?" Jim asked hopefully. 

Blair chuckled, a wonderfully throaty, suggestive sound. "If I have my way, James, it's going to happen daily, and twice a day on the weekends." 

Jim pulled Blair down on top of him and kissed him, turning up his dials to register every sensation at once: taste of Blair's mouth, feel of smell of brown curls drifting over his face, texture of hairy torso rubbing against his, scent of pheromones and arousal. Blair moaned into his lover's mouth as Jim's large hands cupped his ass and squeezed appreciatively. 

"I want you to fuck me," Blair said hoarsely. 

Jim cupped a hand around the other man's cheek, then let his fingers slide into the thick mane of curls. "I think," he said hesitantly, "I think it has to be the other way around. This time. The first time." 

Blue eyes gazed into blue eyes for a long moment. "How do you feel about that, Jim?" Blair said, finally. 

Jim took a deep breath. "I want it." And he did. 

Blair was silent for a long moment--so long that Jim started to worry. "Blair...." 

The words came out in a rush. "ThatissuchaturnonImightjustcomefromthinkingaboutit!" 

Jim chuckled, reassured. "Don't come yet, Sandburg. I haven't even touched you...." He petted his lover's hair with long strokes. 

"I'll let you touch me another time, Jim. I think right now I need to get on to the main event." 

Instinct prompted Jim Ellison, police detective, Army Ranger, and trained killer, to simply roll over on his stomach and spread his legs. A choked noise from Blair made his head jerk around. 

"Don't do stuff like that, Jim, you'll give me a heart attack. It is so not _like_ you, plus it makes my balls want to explode." 

Jim shifted slightly, half trying to get his stiff cock more comfortable between his stomach and the bed, half trying to arouse Blair still more. "I can't help it, Blair. I need you, I want you. It's instinct--those primitive, throwback genes." 

"Is that all it is?" 

The tone of that question made Jim turn over again so that he could look at Blair. "No, it isn't." Feeling totally out of his depth, he smoothed Sandburg's hair back from an expressive face gone suddenly still. "If I didn't need you and want you in my life, Blair, we wouldn't be here right now, instinct or no instinct." He groped for an analogy. "If I just went with my instincts, I wouldn't wait for mealtimes to eat, I'd just take a nap at the station whenever I felt sleepy. Instinct can be controlled or ignored--you've taught me how to do that, with the Sentinel abilities." He wanted to say the words, but they had always come so hard, no matter how certain he was of their truth. He swallowed hard. "Blair, do you--do you love me?" 

Sandburg started; then, his face cleared, and he slowly nodded. Jim took courage from learning what he had longed so deeply to know. 

"I love you, too, Sandburg." 

Blair pounced on him, not kissing but simply wrapping himself tightly around Jim. His breathing was suspiciously hitchy, but Jim didn't criticize; his own eyes were stinging a little. 

Jim kissed the bit of Blair nearest to his lips, close to the man's temple, and then kissed it again. "Would you please take me now, Sandburg? The Sentinel genes aren't much interested in romance...." 

Laughing, Blair disengaged himself and turned to search the night-table drawer. "Oh, I don't know, Jim--I think they're _very_ romantic." 

Jim turned over again, listening as Blair searched for lube and condoms. He knew he had some, though Lord knows how long the stuff had been in there, unused; he hoped like hell it was still usable. He tensed, then relaxed, as Blair stroked firmly down his spine to the cleft of his ass. 

"Jim? Have you ever...?" 

"Yeah. But it's been a long while." He heard a faint sigh of relief and then the pop! of the bottle being opened. 

"It's going to be cool, Jim--" 

It was very cool, more like cold, and Jim dialed down his sense of touch rather severely, until Blair's heat and his own took the chill off the thick liquid. With a long exhalation, he relaxed himself still more, turning up the dial, and welcomed the finger that cautiously entered his body, touching him tenderly and intimately and it was _Blair_.... 

Long moments passed in which all communication took place on a nonverbal level. Blair seemed as sensitive to Jim's movements, breaths, sounds as if he had suddenly acquired Sentinel abilities. Jim relaxed into Blair's touch so deeply that ordinary consciousness seemed to dissolve away; he was aware not of himself and Blair and the bed and the room, but of a symphony of different sensations, each one as pleasurable as a solo by a skilled musician on a well-tuned instrument. Everything came to a crescendo when Jim realized that it was no longer Blair's careful fingers he was feeling, but the stout head of his lover's cock. 

He came up on his knees so quickly that Blair drew back. "Easy, Jim. Just hold still and let me do the work." 

Whatever the Guide says, was the answer that came from deep within. Jim held trustfully still as Blair pressed into him inch by inch, incredibly slow and cautious. It was much more arousing than if Blair had simply rammed himself in, almost unbearably arousing--the incremental increase of pressure, friction, fullness, heat, and most astonishing of all, the entry of Blair's familiar heartbeat into Jim's body rhythms. Listening to that beat was a habit so ingrained that Jim no longer thought about it; feeling it move within him was a shift in consciousness that was almost mystical. 

"Ahhh...!" 

With a long sigh, Blair pressed in the last half an inch and then draped himself over his lover's back. "You okay, Jim?" 

Jim mumbled something incomprehensible even to himself. 

"Talk to me, big guy. I need to know how you feel." 

The Guide voice, of course, and Jim responded to it. "Feels so good, Blair--move--please--" 

Words dissolved into moaning as Blair began to withdraw. Jim didn't want him to be careful--he wanted _more_ \--but he wasn't going to rush this. The Guide was in control, and the Guide was being careful, lovingly careful, and that was how it was. Blair pushed in again, just a little more forcefully than before, and Jim went on moaning, barely aware of the noises he was making, of everything that he was saying without words: Love me, fuck me, take me, make me yours, want you, need you.... 

It went on and on and on, building slowly but steadily, Jim moving with Blair and then against him, until Blair reached the breaking point. Jim's internal muscles tightened demandingly around Blair's cock, and Blair's fingers dug like needles into Jim's hips. With an exclamation that might have been a word in a foreign language, he drew back and slammed into Jim, _hard_ , and Jim was more than ready, open and needy and that slam went right over his prostate. His response was unmistakably intelligible: "Yes, Blair! Yes!!" and from there on nothing could stop it, the ball was rolling downhill, the musicians were racing through the final measures, the fireworks were going off to the strains of the 1812 Overture, and when Blair's fingers at last returned to Jim's aching cock, they both came so hard they passed out. 

Jim came back to himself to find Blair next to him, no longer inside him, one hand resting on Jim's upper arm. With his closed eyes, open mouth, and tousled curly hair, he looked like Dionysus after a particularly good bacchanal. Smiling, Jim dragged himself the few inches necessary to touch his lips to Blair's, wondering if he himself looked as debauched. From the grin he got when Blair's eyes opened, he judged that he did. 

"I love you," Jim said quietly. 

"Yeah, well, fine," Blair muttered as his eyes slid shut again, but he tugged Jim's head down onto his chest and kissed him. Jim kept smiling. The Sentinel had been claimed by his Guide, and that was all that mattered. 

end 


End file.
